Two Further Acceptances

At least in terms of my short story writing, 2015 is off to a good start. In the past fortnight, I am delighted to say, I have received acceptances from two US magazines.

Stupefying Stories has accepted an urban fantasy entitled 'All of the People; All of the Time'. This is around 2,700 words.

Sci Phi Journal has accepted a science fiction story with philosophical foundations, enigmatically entitled 'The Man Who Was Not Himself." This is over 9,000 words.

As yet I do not have the publication schedule for these stories, but I shall try to ensure that readers of my blog are kept informed of when to expect them.

Beware of Economic Gales

Winter gales are nothing new on Sliabh Mannan. On those parts of the moor where the soil is heavy clay, tree roots tend to spread along the surface rather than penetrate downwards. It is never a great surprise when I go out to walk my dog after a gale to find some woodland giant blown over intact, with its root system now forming a vertical wall at the windward end.

Having no great depth of root might be seen as a metaphor for the Scottish economy. We are heavily dependent upon a fairly restricted range of industries, notably oil and finance. When times are good for these industries they can be very good. Basking in the glow of high employment and government revenues from profits taxes, it is tempting for non-economists to be seduced by propaganda assuring them that Scotland is one of the richest countries in the world and could be a Utopian society if only we were independent.

Following the financial crash of 2008 we now see the oil price crash of 2014-15 and the announcement of redundancies in the oil industry. Nevertheless the Scottish government continues to demand a form of Devo-Max under which we should become dependent upon our own highly volatile taxation resources rather than insulated from economic gales by a continuation of the present UK funding arrangements.

It seems to me that members of the Scottish government would benefit from taking a trip out to Sliabh Mannan and learning the lesson of our fallen trees.

The Economic Consequences of A 'Neverendum'

Just a few months ago we were assured that the Scottish Referendum would settle the independence question for a generation. Now it seems that far from accepting the result of the vote, Yes campaigners cannot wait to try again. There are three reasons why this 'neverendum' is a bad idea.

1. Firstly, according to SNP budget plans for the first three years of independence the oil price was to be $110 per barrel. In fact the oil price is about $60 and expected government revenues would be a quarter of what was so recently predicted. We already faced an annual budget deficit and the requirement to try and borrow from the markets at the same time as we were throwing over responsibility for our share of UK National Debt in a fit of pique over not being admitted to a sterling currency union. The No vote turns out to have rescued us from immediate bankruptcy as a country. Hasn't anyone noticed?

2. The major Scottish financial institutions have all made contingency plans to decamp to London. They announced this during the Referendum campaign. Now that the idea is out in the open and it hasn't had the negative commercial impact that might have been expected, it will be much easier to contemplate actually doing it. Loss of such a large industry would inflict huge damage on the Scottish economy.

3. Evidence suggests that inward investment decisions that had been postponed awaiting a resolution of uncertainty caused by the Referendum have been postponed again since the uncertainty is still not resolved. This is great news for parts of Northumbria and Cumbria that can expect investment intended to supply Scottish markets as well as their own. It is less obvious why politicians with Scotland's best interests at heart should wish to prolong this damaging uncertainty indefinitely.

It would be a good idea if Scottish politicians remembered that in the middle of all this constitutional argy-bargy there is a little matter of running the country to be considered.

A verbally challenged refrigerator

Two hundred and ten entries were submitted for On The Premises mini contest #24. This challenged authors to submit a complete story of 40 words or less containing one instance of the word refrigerator.

For some reason my story did not secure a place. However, since it is difficult to know what else you would do with such a story I have decided to publish it here.  I hope you enjoy it.



My refrigerator is haunted. It goes cold and dark inside with the door closed. Spooky! Snatch it open and catch him? No, too slow. Wait! Suppose I just leave it closed? Starve to death. There, that will teach him!

Devolution, subsidiarity and national influence

The European Union has a doctrine of subsidiarity. This holds that in order to be well informed and appropriate in their application, all political decisions should be taken at the lowest practicable level. For example, it should not be the business of the Union to regulate local taste in beer; on the other hand since pollution recognises no local boundaries the environment has to be tackled collectively.

In the remorseless drive towards ever closer union, seemingly defined in Brussels as centralised authority, this principle of subsidiarity is more honoured in the breach than in the observance. It is particularly frustrating when combined with majority rule. For example, island states such as the UK have a good deal more to lose from a badly designed common fisheries policy than landlocked central European countries.

The corollary however is that the more we demand local control, the less influence we have with those at the centre who exercise powers collectively.

When we examine the political future of Scotland, we should not lose sight of the fact that Scotland has supplied two prime ministers and three Chancellors to the UK in the last two decades, which suggests its influence at the national level has significantly exceeded that of England.

The more powers are devolved to Holyrood, the less there is for Scottish MPs at Westminster to do, unless we are to inflate the West Lothian Question to unanswerable proportions. How likely is it that underemployed Scottish MPs in London will be able to hold high public office in future? And whose fault will that be?

Goodbye Buster

Foaled 1989 died 22 November 2014.

I bought Buster at auction in 1993 with the last bid I could afford. He was my riding club horse as well as a point to point racehorse. He was in professional training with three different trainers and twice placed third in novice steeplechases over two miles before his impoverished owner ran out of the wherewithal to pay training fees.

He remained in good health to the last, having almost miraculously recovered from a stroke a few years ago that initially almost paralysed his near hind leg. Just a few days ago we were commenting on how well he was doing for his age. Fine last night at supper time. Found dead in his stable this morning.

Along with his stablemates, his relevance to my writing is there in every description of horses and riding.

A very good friend of mine.  R.I.P.

As long as it's black ....

I used to teach my students that the need for marketing was primarily the result of oversupply.
 

In undersupplied markets the producer is sovereign to the extent of consumers having little choice beyond taking what is on offer or going without. During the early industrial period and right up to the middle of the twentieth century, merely possessing the latest exciting consumer durable such as a TV or a washing machine was enough to make you the envy of your friends.

A combination of mass production technologies and cheap labour resulted in a reversal of this order of things in the third quarter of the century. In oversupplied markets the producer who lacks a good marketing mix will lose out to competitors who understand the customers better, even if the latter has a technically inferior product. The least successful at selling will see their products remain on the shelves or in the display rooms.

In some ways I think the established political parties in the West are behaving like early twentieth century industrialists. They assume that grassroots members can be safely ignored and voters will continue to vote for the big old parties because only they can assemble the majorities needed to control government.

Just because voters are concerned about EU regulations, migration, and in Scotland home rule it doesn't mean their concerns need to be addressed. Since the days of Edmund Burke politicians have hidden behind the defence that they are not delegates but experts, whereas voters are basically ignorant.

Before the information revolution this position might have been sustainable. In an age of 24/7 news and minute scrutiny of public officials it is not. We see the rise of populism all over the West, some of it unattractive to say the least, but all of it responding to the neglect of the citizenry by the traditional plotical classes.

It is long past time our politicians stopped behaving like feudal barons and started taking the views of their constituents more seriously.

Travelling like a writer

Rebecca Birch,  whose work I like, wrote in her blog earlier this year of how a writer  may approach travel with a different attitude to normal human beings.  We have a habit of storing up experiences that may come in useful in our work.

Personally I find that my camera helps. The great boon of digital photography is practically to eliminate the marginal cost of your pictures. No more worrying whether you can justify the use of film.

So when I am wandering around I take a picture of anything that looks interesting, even if I don't know what it is, together with numerous landscape shots that will help me remember the setting. Then when I get home I do my research and find out what I have photographed. Usually between reference books and the internet I can find out. I find this also helps me to remember the next time I see something like it.

Even on a guided tour it will often prove difficult to take in everything that you are told, but
photographs will help you recall it. The best tour guides throw in all sorts of local colour: history, myth, prejudice, manner of speaking. All of these have their potential uses.

Not everything can be photographed. It may be a sound that characterises a place, sometimes a smell, sometimes a taste or a texture. But at least if you have documented one sensory impression it may help you to recall others.

My two example photographs above are both from Taormina, Sicily.  The first is a detail of the second.

The Prophets of Baal - Paperback edition

For those who prefer real books that you can hold in your hand rather than electronic versions, I can now announce that the paperback version of Prophets of Baal has gone on sale.

The US CreateSpace shop page is here

The UK Amazon page is here

I understand that it will take a few days before it is available elsewhere. I'll try to keep this post updated.

It was quite strange to pick up a copy and discover how heavy it was!  I do hope that people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Perhaps you will let me know?

Slamannan and its Neighbourhood

For a long time I was completely unaware that the nearby village had established a presence on the web.  I was recently pointed in the direction of this facebook page which contains a lot of pictures and stories about the village of Slamannan. It seemed to me that this deserves to be more widely known, along with an overall history of this interesting area. So here is a little introduction.  I shall try to add details of the village's history in due course.

Slamannan (above) is a village, or more accurately a group of villages in south east Stirlingshire, Scotland. Its population, including the outlying hamlets of Limerigg and Binniehill, (below) is in the region of 1,400.

Nestling in a natural hollow of Sliabh Mannan at the confluence of the River Avon and the Culloch Burn, it is around 150 metres above sea level and on a clear day commands views right across the Forth estuary to the Campsie Fells and Ochil Hills. The whole of the surrounding area is designated as being of Great Landscape Value and is home to a number of protected species including bats, bean geese and badgers.

At the centre of the village stands an impressive clock memorial to the dead of the Boer War, and south of this in the middle of the twentieth century a substantial council housing scheme was built. Further from the centre in all directions stretch more modern private housing developments.

There are three nineteenth century mansions nearby, one of which is now a respite home.

The village has its own primary school, community centre, medical centre and library. There are two take-aways, a chemists, grocers, post-office, cafe and garage.

It also has a lot of very nice people who are happy to talk about the place where they live, though when it snows in winter and the road to Falkirk is blocked for an hour or two the location can become a little less popular!

Photographing The Moon

I love to see a well taken photograph of our nearest planetary neighbour.  It is a lot easier said than done and I'm still finding my way in the art, not least because it involves being out of doors late and in the cold!  Additionally the cloud cover is often too bad and even when the sky is clear there can be atmospheric haze that reduces the quality of photographs taken from Earth.  These days of course we have seen so many photographs from space that we are spoiled.

I discovered at an early stage that you cannot get away with a hand held camera.  Even the steady hand of a surgeon might struggle to hold his lens sufficiently immobile for a night time exposure at a quarter of a million miles away from his subject.  So having acquired a tripod, I tried again, using my Minolta 75-300 mm. lens on its maximum extension.  Now this is decent lens for a zoom and I ended up with respectable pictures, but only very small ones after cropping so far into the frame.

Last night I decided to stack lenses in a reckless fashion to see what I could do with a big image.  I used my elderly Sigma 400mm f5.6  M42 lens and two doublers, a Helios and a Tamron.  Effectively I was trying to focus and set aperture and exposure manually for the equivalent of a 1600mm lens.  This is not easy; at least it's not easy for me.  I made numerous mistakes.  However I finally got a couple of presentable pictures, of which the one below is the better, in my opinion.

I do not claim that this picture has huge technical merit.  I hope to do better.  Nevertheless I am not dissatisfied with it for a first effort with this type of set up.

Where are the giants?

Sometimes when I contemplate the awful problems that beset our world, I wonder why it is that the leading figures in society and politics today seem so puny compared with the colossal shadows cast by their predecessors. Where is the modern Churchill, Gladstone or Disraeli? Would the new Duke of Wellington please stand up?

For some reason the present generation seems to reach its pinnacle in people for whom the achievement of simple competence is regarded as a triumph. Has something gone wrong with our education system? Do we no longer breed statesmen and heroes or do we somehow conspire to keep leadership out of their hands? Has society itself become so open and tolerant that we are no longer capable either of making or accepting the strong and often upsetting decisions that are needed?

But when we look back to ancient society we find exactly the same sentiments of the degeneration of the human race. Greek heroes described in Homer could perform wonderful feats of strength 'greater than any two men born today'. The borderline between heroes and gods was tenuous and frequently crossed.

It seems probable that human beings have always looked upon their problems as huge and their own resources as feeble by comparison. Since we need to believe that the situation is not hopeless, we weave myths around the men of the past until in retrospect they achieve the stature of giants. "All we require," we say, "is another such hero to come along and his superior powers will get us out of this mess."

Unfortunately the prominent figures of today will always suffer by comparison with an idealised past that lives only in memory and from whom time has stripped away all shortcomings. Maybe we ought to cut the current generation a bit of slack. Who knows, some of them, when the next century looks back on this one, may turn out to be legendary giants.

We have all lost

How very thin the crust of civilisation is. There we were, patronising the mediaevalism of other cultures, confident that we had progressed beyond all that nonsense.

Then along comes another false messiah, denying every inconvenient fact and promising a naively simplistic road to (earthly) paradise. Lo and behold, masses of our fellow citizens (on both sides) promptly revert to tribalism. The English backlash is no prettier than the Anglophobia that provoked it.

Perhaps someone will remind me when was the last time an arbitrary line drawn on a map, leaving minorities numbering hundreds of thousands on each 'wrong' side, helped solve rather than create problems?

Or the last time that emphasising what divides people rather than what unites them led to peace and prosperity?

Whoever wins on Thursday, we have all lost already.

Goodbye Primrose Path

If you see a friend walking towards the edge of a cliff whilst playing a game of blind man's buff, what do you do? Call out a warning, I expect.

You might well be surprised and upset when your friend shouts back, "Scaremonger!" and continues to walk forward.

"No really, there's a cliff!" you call.

"Disgraceful negativism!" he replies, sticking his fingers in his ears and starting to hum "La,la,la - can't hear you!"

Separatists amongst Scots seem to believe that as long as you dress up market forces as pantomime villains and hang a sign round their necks labelling them 'English Tory Scares' you may safely ignore them. Economic laws do not apply in the land of Braveheart.

But isn't it really going a bit far to respond to relocation decisions from major financial institutions by continuing to shout 'Scaremonger'?

Just what counts as economic evidence if capital flight does not?

People who don't trust what might happen at the ballot box are voting with their wallets.

It might be a good time to remove the blindfold and take a look ahead.

Scottish Monetary Policy

If Scotland continues to use sterling despite no longer being part of a currency union, we will have no choice but to accept whatever monetary policy the UK decides upon.  There are 58 million in the UK and 5 million of us.  They will have no more reason to take account of a foreign Scotland when determining their monetary policy than the USA has to take account of Panama when determining theirs.

Deduct the forty odd Scottish Labour seats and the chances are that the next UK government is Conservative.  They will implement Conservative monetary policy in the UK and that policy will apply in Scotland because Scotland will not have its own monetary policy.

Perversely this means that, so long as Salmond’s Currency Plan B remains the use of sterling without agreement,  voting 'yes' in the referendum results in the imposition of a Tory government's monetary policy in Scotland.

Perhaps this is what he means when he promises that Scotland will get what it votes for.

No-one can stop us!

"No-one can stop us using the pound!"

That is true. No-one could stop us using the dollar or the yen either, if we chose to do so. It just wouldn't be smart. Neither would using the pound outside the UK currency union.

No-one can stop Panama and Ecuador using the dollar, so they do use it. But the dollar is a foreign currency, controlled by a foreign country. These two Latin American countries allow the USA to enforce fiscal and monetary discipline upon them because they can't easily do it themselves. They have to generate trade surpluses in order to accumulate domestic spending power. Their governments are not masters of their own economies.

So if Scotland wants to wrest control of monetary policy away from London only to hand it straight back again, this time with no influence over it whatsoever, then yes, no-one can stop us.

On the other hand, good luck generating the trade surplus needed to pay for the promised fairer society after the financial services industry has been forced to move south of the border in order to stay in the same jurisdiction as its lender of last resort. Most Scottish financial products are exported to the UK.

Good luck obtaining a fair share of The Bank of England's foreign currency reserves after you've refused to take a fair share of the UK national debt.

Good luck finding people to purchase Scottish government bonds when you've shown yourself likely to default whenever you don't get what you want.

But we can always console ourselves with the thought that no-one could stop us!

Scottish Referendum:Currency Plan B (for Broke?)

This is the text of my letter,  published in The Falkirk Herald last Thursday:

"It's Scotland's pound and we're keeping it," they say. We are still being treated like children who do not understand economics.

The pound is the currency of the union. It is not Scotland's pound, nor is it England's, Wales' or Northern Ireland's pound. Scotland proposes leaving the union. You cannot divorce and expect to retain the joint account. When you're single again you must establish your own account and pay your own way.

It's no good repeatedly telling your ex-partners that it's somehow in their interest to continue underwriting your debts; after the 2008 crisis they won't believe you.

If Scotland used the pound unilaterally we would have to accumulate pounds by trade, since our government could not create for itself an increased supply of a foreign currency. Failure to generate a trade surplus would thus preclude the blithely promised fairer society. You might want it, but you can't have it if you can't pay for it.

Without a central bank, borrowing would become more expensive, especially if the Scottish government followed through on its reckless threat to throw over responsibility for its share of the UK National Debt. Remember a Scottish Chancellor under a Scottish Prime Minister recently increased that debt to rescue The Royal Bank of Scotland. No-one lends cheaply to those perceived as defaulters.

Loss of financial sector jobs could easily run into tens of thousands, reducing tax revenues, increasing the Scottish government's need to borrow and raising interest rates still further.

Using sterling without agreement has costs. It's not just a matter of thumbing our noses at the rest of the UK and saying we'll do as we like.

A new edition - Prophets of Baal

We all know that you can't judge a book by its cover, but people tell me that the original cover for 'Prophets of Baal' was not really inspirational.  The more I looked at it myself from the point of view of a newcomer, the more I felt it looked as though the story must be about a small boat sailor who spends his time observing seagulls.

Now I have nothing against sailing.  Far from it, as readers of a recent blog post will have noted.  And I am also quite a keen bird photographer.  In fact the seagull that used to feature  on the cover was a photograph that I took myself.

However the old cover was supposed to pose this question: 'Can witches transform themselves into gulls and perform sea magic whilst they're at it?'  It rather seems that the picture must have been asking this question in a very obscure language that not too many readers understood. So I decided to turn to a professional* instead of trying to express myself in pictures as well as words.

There is a question posed in the book that is considerably more fundamental.  That question is: 'Can a modern woman be as glamorous as the lady on the new cover and still be a witch?'  Well, I suppose you might be able to guess the answer.  But what will you do about it?

This is the original synopsis.

What's it about? Well, if you love that old detective genre classic the English country house murder, here's a new twist for you! Naïve young private investigator Toby Le Tocq is soon all at sea in more ways than one when he takes a casual interest in a two hundred year old case. Locals are strangely divided. Some want to drive him away, whilst two beautiful and aristocratic women compete for his affections. But is it really just blind luck? In the blood of the two rivals flows an ancient power of sorcery. When Toby falls for the younger witch he is enmeshed in a web of intrigue, crime and revenge. Behind it all is the battle for control of a vast demonic power. If the girl he loves is to be saved from death, Toby faces not just a struggle to understand the occult but an ancient battle for supremacy that somehow he cannot help believing he has fought before. And unknown to Toby, both sides have picked him to play a leading role in the latest round!

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*(I am indebted to Cristi Iancu at dreamstime.com.)

Me And My Dog

Last weekend, my dog had a bad time. I had a bad time too, an emergency hospital admission, ambulance, siren, flashing lights and everything, after a pair of wonderful paramedics rescued me from an asthmatic collapse. But this story is not about me.

My dog was first on the scene. He responded to my call for help and, realising at once that the crisis was unprecedented in his experience, he became very concerned. It seemed there was nothing that a dog could do to help.

Yet he knows that his people are always there to help him when he needs it. When, through no fault of his own, he found himself in SSPCA kennels, we came and adopted him. That was very important because he hated the kennels, wouldn't eat properly and lost a great deal of weight. A good home, affection and regular exercise soon made a new dog of him.

On the occasions that he has been clumsy and fallen in whilst exploring the riverbank near his new home, his person has been there to help him out. When there are worrying things about, his people are about too.

In return, he is totally committed to protecting his people and his home against all intruders and perceived threats of any kind whatsoever. He has taken over from the alarm clock the responsibility for getting sluggards out of bed in the morning and he also takes seriously the duty of regulating the behaviour of all other animals (except the cat.)

But how can a dog be expected to cope with a medical emergency that requires more than just a good licking with a big sloppy tongue? And how should a dog react when strange people come and start doing things that he doesn't understand with strange apparatus?

Well, first, it is obvious to him that these people are not enemies but are there to help. They are too busy helping to be able to defend themselves (and his person) therefore a dog must keep watch outside the door of the room where his person has collapsed and ensure that no troublemakers interfere with the rescue attempt.

But then what? His person is taken away in circumstances that he knows are very troubling and he is left behind. His other person also goes away and comes back alone. The next day she goes away and comes back alone again. It has been almost twenty four hours, an eternity in dog time. He has no idea what has become of his person, no-one can explain to him and he is very upset indeed. He doesn't eat properly and he mopes. What else can he do?

At last his other person goes away for the third time. She comes back for the third time. He doesn't feel like getting up. He's seen this twice before. But what's this? His ears prick up. There's someone else in the car. Could it be? Is it? It is! Hoo-rah!

I am welcomed home as if I had been gone for weeks, smothered in licks and climbed over by a dog who weighs not far off my own weight and is much more solid. The tail thumps around so hard that the dog is almost wagged off his feet and the whole great body capers around in joy. The relief is palpable; the instruction never to scare him like that again is scarcely less so.

You know what some people say about animals showing humans only cupboard love? It's nonsense.

David in Euroland

A Tale for Children

David had to go to Euroland for a big meeting in Brussels. This is where sprouts come from and sprouts, as every child knows, are horrid tasteless vegetables resembling solid green ping-pong balls that adults won't let you leave on the side of your plate after Sunday dinner. Instead you're told they're good for you and made to sit there at the table until you've eaten every last one.

David was The Prime Minister of Britain and normally he quite liked sprouts but sometimes even Prime Ministers who like sprouts just feel that they've had enough and would rather have something else for a change.

Strangely enough the meeting that David had to go to wasn't about sprouts like most of the other meetings but about another kind of animal altogether called Eurocats - or maybe it was Eurocrats, he couldn't quite make out the foreign accent over the telephone - but in either case it had as usual been decided that all of them should be exactly the same, all green and all perfectly round with great grins on their faces because they'd skimmed off so much of the cream.

Once upon a time if you wanted to go to Euroland, which very few people in Britain usually did, you had to get on a cross Channel ferry. Nobody really knew why the Channel ferry was so cross, but as long as they could remember it always had been. Most people thought it was probably because it had to go to Euroland every day and they all sympathised.

Anyway that was before they dug a big tunnel under the Channel. It was officially considered much better to go by train because Euroland had long ago started running on rails. David was pretty sure of this because the papers continually published stories about how the European train had departed from the station leaving him standing on the platform. Some of the newspapers considered this a great shame, whilst others said that the train was on the wrong track anyway and would most likely end up in the United States.

David wasn't very good at geography, but the United States sounded like completely the wrong direction to him. The editors explained they meant the United States of  Europe. Now David knew perfectly well this didn't exist and he thought it was a pretty silly idea for the Eurocrats to have built a railway line going there, let alone got on a train and started on the journey.

However, he saw things a little differently after he got a telephone call from his girlfriend Angela to ask why he hadn't come over. Angela was a German lady who had grown up wanting to be an engine driver and had been so successful that she was nowadays known in her own country as 'Der Steamroller'.

Angela told David that all the leaders agreed their destination was sure to exist by the time they got there. David didn't really find this very reassuring. All things considered, he thought, he would probably rather stay at home and eat sprouts. But Angela told David that if he didn't come on the train with all the rest then he'd have to follow behind on a bicycle and that sounded like an even worse idea to him. So David reluctantly agreed to go over.

Well of course by the time he got to Brussels everybody else had been on the train for some time and whilst they were waiting they had all been eating and drinking and playing cards. Angela was playing the Queen of Hearts but François was playing the field. Since all of the leaders were such terrible gamblers, the Eurocrats had carefully concealed all the real money in a big black box and handed out some imitation cash called Euros so that their chiefs could do what they liked with it and it wouldn't matter.

Unfortunately first the Greek leader and then the Irishman and then the Portuguese and then the Spaniard and then the Italian lost all the Euros that they had been given to play with. Every time this happened Angela had to give them some of her Euros in order to prevent them getting off the train.

So that when David arrived nearly everyone already owed Angela a lot of make-believe money. As if that wasn't a bad enough start to the meeting, the others all told David that whilst they were waiting they had already chosen a new driver for the train and his name was Jean-Claude. David didn't like the sound of this. He pointed out J-C rhymed with K-C and people called Casey were famous for crashing trains.

Angela said that this didn't matter ein pfennig because they had also decided that on the Eurotrain all the passengers could go at different speeds except those who had paid for their tickets using her money and they would have to go at the same speed as her so that she could keep an eye on them.

"Look at it this way," she said to David. "We had an election and nearly three quarters of the people in Europe said they wanted anybody but Jean-Claude, so obviously Jean-Claude has to get the job."

"I scarcely see why," said David, quite mystified as usual in his typically British way. The British are terribly bad at foreign languages and have never really understood Eurospeak.

"Because of the democratic deficit of course, dummkopf!" said Angela. "In Euroland we have a system that people should never get what they want because it only spoils them, so since hardly anybody wants Jean-Claude it follows he is the perfect choice."

"What experience does he have driving a train?" asked David.

"He's very popular in Luxembourg," said Angela, deftly changing the subject.

"That settles it," said David. "Do you know how much trouble the Labour Party leader in Britain got into trying to eat a bacon sandwich last week? You can't possibly expect me to swallow a Luxemburger."

"Look David, we're all agreed. Except for Viktor that is. He disagrees with everything that isn't in Hungarian."

"Good for him. I'll vote for Jean-Claude on condition he agrees to do everything in Hungarian too."

"Now be reasonable, liebchen. You don't want to be isolated, do you?"

"Actually, yes. That's the only way I'll ever be re-elected after all the austerity. You did hear UKIP topped the Euro-poll in Britain, didn't you? Now would one of you chaps mind pulling the emergency stop? I think I'll get off the train."

But liebchen," Angela wailed, "the Eurotrain is not moving."

"Excellent," said David. "I don't know if you've noticed but the British train on the other hand is moving along quite smartly. I might even manage to pull off another term in office. Toodle-pip, you chaps!"

And so saying David got off the train and took the bus to Calais for the ferry. Both David and the ferry were very happy about this because they were on their way back to England. In fact the ferry was so happy that it completely forgot to be cross and as a result it sailed to Southampton instead of Dover.

This was a bit unfortunate for David, since all the newspaper reporters were waiting for him at the wrong port and when he failed to arrive they naturally jumped to the wrong conclusion.

The next day all the British newspapers ran stories saying David had missed the boat.